


I don't know who I am, but now I know who I'm not

by Honey_Dewey



Series: My Doctor Who stories (mostly 13) [5]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Clothing, F/F, Fluff, Gender Dysphoria, Haircuts, Harassment, Nightmares, Other, Panic Attacks, Slow Burn, Therapy, gender therapy, the Doctor deals with gender, will update tags as the story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24271897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honey_Dewey/pseuds/Honey_Dewey
Summary: The Doctor, upon regenerating into the bubbly blonde woman the Fam was familiar with, realizes that maybe being a woman wasn’t right for her, but that realization comes with a whole slew of mental problems. How will the Doctor face being different than what the universe tells her she it?(Previously titled ‘But strangely he feels at home in this place’)
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Series: My Doctor Who stories (mostly 13) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1733278
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	1. I’ll cut my hair, to make you stare

**Author's Note:**

> Am I writing this because I’m a dysphoric piece of trash?
> 
> Maybe...
> 
> I threw myself into writing this last night, and it’s surprising that it got done as fast as it did. I plan on doing more chapters, but not too many because of the other projects I’m working on. 
> 
> Also, angst. Oh boy is it fun to write. I have a very poetic style of writing that fits beautifully with any form of angst. 
> 
> Trigger warning for this story: descriptions of dysphoria, depression, anxiety, and a general hatred of self image. Please be careful.

For almost 2000 years, the Doctor had been content with herself. Granted, herself had always been himself, but surely a shift in gender couldn’t be that big an issue, right? Plus, she always felt woozy and discombobulated the week or so after regeneration. Completely normal. 

What wasn’t normal was the nightmares, the uneasy and almost nauseous feeling whenever she took off her clothes, the sick curdling in her stomach when anyone called her Ma’am, and the ever looming urge to tear her skin off. 

“How do you deal with it?” She asked Missy one balmy summer evening. They’d been talking, at various points in time before she’d been executed, after the Doctor had regenerated. “Just suddenly being a woman after being a man for so long?” 

Missy had shrugged, leaning back into the purple grass of some faraway planet. “It’s odd,” she hummed. “But I quite like it.” 

The Doctor didn’t like it. She felt wrong, like a person wearing a mask. A mask she couldn’t ever take off. 

She never asked her fam about it. She always freaked out whenever she thought she should. What if it wasn’t normal? What if they thought she was a freak and hated her for how she felt? 

What if they left? 

No, no time to think about that now. She had repairs to do. Buried deep in the mechanics of the TARDIS, the Doctor fiddled away with the chameleon circuit, not trying to fix it, but trying to at least stabilize it before it blew up. She grumbled, banging away as the fam filtered around her, above her head, wishing each other a good night. 

“Promise you’ll be getting some sleep Doc?” Graham called down to her as he bid Yaz goodnight. 

“Yeah,” the Doctor said, slightly distracted. She’d told them a bit about her Gallifreyan biology when Ryan had pressed for answers as to why she never seemed to sleep. She admitted she only really needed half of the sleep they did, maxing out usually at four or five hours. She also ate less frequently, but had bigger meals, and most of her senses were better than the average human, especially her hearing and taste. 

“When’ll you be going?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. 

She sighed, a warm feeling in her belly as he did what seemed instinctual as a grandfather. He took care of her. 

“‘Round midnight?” She guessed. “Maybe one. Depends, really, on how much I get done here.” 

“Alright,” Graham conceded. “You better, else I might accidentally forget to get you more custard creams.” 

The Doctor gasped dramatically, pushing her welding mask up and staring up at Graham. “You wouldn’t!” 

“I most definitely would,” He confirmed. “Good night Doc.” 

She gave him a very scrunched-up look before tossing herself back into her work. 

It was 1 am, almost four hours later, and the Doctor was in her bedroom, as promised. She was standing in front of her personal wardrobe, the doors tossed open, rummaging through for the right pyjamas. The night dress Missy had lent her was soft and silky, but made her chest feel awfully tight. Her old striped shirt and pants from when she was a man were an option, but she always seemed to be drowning in fabric when she put them on. The TARDIS had given her a set of nice pyjamas when she had regenerated, but the navy blue outfit was nowhere to be found. It was probably still tossed in a messy pile on the bathroom floor, if the Doctor was remembering correctly. 

She huffed, resigning herself to cross the hall and find her pjs. The TARDIS was dark, with only a low set of nighttime lights to guide the Doctor on her way down the corridor and into the bathroom. 

As she pushed the door open, she wrinkled her nose at the strong smell. Yaz must’ve bathed earlier, and her soap had a very peculiar scent that had a tendency to linger. Lavender and sage, with a touch of honey. Scents the Doctor had associated with Yaz on day one. 

The Doctor stared at herself in the mirror. She was in worse shape than she had originally thought. Grease and oil everywhere, her hair was a tangled, gross mess, and she smelled strongly of machinery. Maybe a shower would be good for her too. 

The water was still warm from when Yaz had bathed, and the Doctor carefully shimmied out of her clothes, leaving them in a big pile, right next to her favorite pyjamas. 

The hot water felt amazing on her muscles, which were still sore from the week’s adventuring. The lights were dim in the bathroom too, just dim enough so that the Doctor couldn’t really see herself when she looked down. She scrubbed various substances off her skin and out of her hair in record time, this regeneration wasn’t too fond of bathing, and got out of the shower. She dried off in the same way she bathed, quickly, efficiently, and without looking down. She throughly toweled her hair dry until it was just as big a tangled mess as it had been when she had started, and it hung frustratingly in her eyes. The damp blonde strands clumped together, obscuring her vision and making her huff. 

She blew the hair out of her eyes, wiping thick condensation from the mirror. It didn’t do much, but at least being able to somewhat see was better than not being able to see at all. The Doctor turned from the mirror, sliding into her pyjamas and audibly groaning as she shoved her hair out of her eyes again. It was persistent, she’d give it that. 

As she made to leave, she caught her eye in the mirror. The film of condensation was almost gone, leaving a fuzzy tinge to the edges, but a crystal clear middle image. 

The Doctor, with damp hair and saggy clothes, hiding from the world in oversized fabric. She would never be a woman. 

“No,” she whispered, trying desperately to turn away. But her gaze was locked, trapped on her horrifying figure. The body that didn’t belong to her. The timeless child, the oncoming storm, the Valeyard, the Time Lord victorious. She was all those things. She was a monster. A killer. 

“No!” She yelled, surging forward and giving the mirror a well deserved punch. It broke, cracks spidering outwards from her bloody fist. Her hair swung, swaying like a pendulum in her periphery. In one swift movement, she yanked open a drawer. The TARDIS, ever the helpful, telepathic companion, gave her exactly what her frantic mind needed. Thick, chunky kitchen shears, the plastic a friendly shade of blue. 

The Doctor didn’t hesitate, didn’t bother to think about how rash she was being. She just began to hack away at her hair, pulling and crying. When had she started crying? 

By the time she could think straight, the floor was covered in still damp hair and blood spots. Her head stung from how hard she had been pulling, and her hand was starting to hurt. She sunk to her knees, head bowed, body pulsing with leftover adrenaline. 

The shears hit the floor with a dull noise, one that the Doctor didn’t really hear. No, she was more focused on the sound of someone shuffling down the hallway. 

“Yaz?” Graham called out, clearly tired. “Yaz is that you? I told you love, quiet down when you close doors ‘round here. Some of us need to sleep!” 

The Doctor pressed her hands over her mouth, trying not to let her sobs bubble over. She couldn’t let them see her like this. She was vulnerable, she was weak, she was-

“Doc?” 

Her head whipped upwards, staring up at Graham. He looked shocked, almost scared. But amongst all that, he looked painfully worried. “Doc? You alright?” 

The Doctor nodded, immediately shaking her head afterwards. Graham sat beside her, holding his arms out. “It’s okay love, c’mere.” 

She sunk into his embrace, finally just letting go. All the tears and pain and suffering, all of it was let out. He held her, unquestioning and uncaring of the mess she was making as her sobs began anew. 

As the Doctor cried, Graham began noticing the state of the bathroom. The blood smeared broken mirror, the sharp shears still on the floor, the dimmed lights. He immediately acted on instinct, kicking the shears away from the Doctor and towards him. If she was irrational right now, the last thing she needed was something she could hurt herself with. 

Finally, she pulled away, eyes red and puffy, clear tear tracks paving little paths down her cheeks. “M’sorry,” she said, in a trembling, raspy whisper. 

“What for?” Graham said, confused. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for” 

The Doctor sniffled, wiping her nose on her shirt sleeve. “Made a mess.” 

Graham shrugged. “Messes can be cleaned Doc.” 

“Theta.” 

“Hm?” 

The Doctor looked Graham dead in the eyes, and for the very first time, he could see it. The alien with two hearts, both of them too big for this universe. The one who walked in the wake of wars, who brought empires down at the mere mention of her name. The one who had lived for centuries upon untold centuries, each one longer and crueler than the last. “Call me Theta. Please.” 

Graham nodded, unsure of what to do now. “Alright Theta. C’mon, let’s head to the kitchen. Get you all patched up.” 

The Doctor stood, legs wobbly as she followed Graham numbly down the hall, cradling her injured hand to her chest as she went. She had no idea why she’d asked Graham to call her by the name she remembered being given. It held sentiment, sure. But was hearing it from him really all that comforting?

“Theta?” Graham gestured to the kitchen table, a first aid kit in hand. “Sit, that’s a good lass,” he praised as she sat, holding out her hand silently. 

As he worked, cleaning and removing bits of glass, she realized her feet didn’t quite touch the floor, allowing her to kick them back and forth, back and forth, like a child. 

A child. 

She started, realizing what her name made her feel. In this moment, now more than ever, she felt like a child. Sulking after being injured at the academy, one of the adults patching her up and sending her off with a scolding. Koschei always there when she got out, a grin on his face and a happy murmur of ‘let’s try again tomorrow Theta. I’m sure we can get it right next time.’ 

Graham put a hand on her shoulder. “Theta? You alright?” 

The Doctor nodded. “O’course,” she breathed. “Lovely. Peachy. Can you, uh,” she stumbled over her words, tongue suddenly feeling like it was wrapped in cotton. “Would you mind, Y’know, just callin’ me Doctor?” 

“Absolutely,” Graham sat down at the table with her, surprisingly solid amongst the watery backdrop. 

“Sorry,” The Doctor wiped tears from her eyes again. “It was my name, long time ago, when I was a kid at the academy. Theta Sigma. Always scolded me with that, actually. Always both names when I got in trouble.” 

“And I assume it happened a lot?” 

“Yeah,” the Doctor let out a wet giggle. “Me and Koschei, the academy’s biggest troublemakers.” 

Graham smiled. “Hey, Doc,” he said. “I hate to drag you out of your memories, I really do, but what are we gonna do about that?” 

“About what?” The Doctor looked down at herself when he gestured to her. “I’ll change my shirt if that’s what you mean.” 

“No, you plum,” Graham sighed. “Your hair. It’s a nightmare.” 

“Ah,” the Doctor gave an experimental tug to her hair. It was choppy, a testament to how unfocused she’d been as she cut it. The longest bits barely covered her ears, and she let out a petulant huff upon realizing the damage was too great for her to do anything more to it on her own. “I suppose I could find someone to fix it. There’s gotta be someone who can do that, right? I’ll start the TARDIS scans, hopefully she’ll find someone, and-“ she broke off, staring owlishly at Graham. “What?” 

“Or,” he said, trying not to smile. “You could open your eyes for once and realize the answer’s already on board your ship.” 

The Doctor scrunched her nose and tipped her head. “Really?” 

“Believe it,” Graham said, almost proudly. “Back when times were rough, when I was driving busses, not all of us could afford much by way of luxuries. So we all went out, learned useful skills and traded them. I would cut a bloke’s hair, and he’d mend my ripped clothes or something like that. It was efficient, and we all grew closer because of it.” 

“And now you wanna cut my hair?” The Doctor was still a tiny bit confused. “Why? I’ve nothing to offer you.” 

Graham stared at her, disbelieving. “Oi! Don’t say that! You’ve given me the universe! Don’t you ever, and I mean ever, tell me you ain’t got nothing to offer me! Now come on, between the jacuzzi, the library, and the wardrobe, this ship’s bound to have what I need, yeah?” 

The TARDIS did, in fact, have what he needed. She actually had more than the essentials, and it was practically public knowledge that she’d go above and beyond for her Time Lord, so it came to barely any surprise that the door the Doctor suggested was a bathroom was definitely not a bathroom. 

“Huh,” the Doctor peered over Graham’s shoulder. “That’s new.” 

The room, while it wasn’t a bathroom, did have exactly what Graham needed. He gathered a bag of supplies from the closet, if it could even be called a closet while it was the size of a bedroom, and directed the Doctor to the kitchen. 

“Alright Doc, have a seat,” Graham pulled a stool out and the Doctor sat, albeit squirming a bit at the notion of sitting still. She wasn’t very good at remaining stationary, even when her life was on the line. 

Graham took one of the towels from his bag and draped it across her shoulders, causing her to jump at the unexpected action. “Sorry!” 

“Don’t be,” the Doctor said, suddenly sheepish. “Just didn’t expect it, that’s all. Should’ve known.” 

“Alright,” Graham said carefully, still worried. Even after her reassurance, he quietly called out the actions that pertained to her, like when he stood behind her and began combing through her hair. 

“You really did a number here,” he observed. “Why?” 

“Was in my way,” the Doctor said, gazing down at her feet. “Got frustrated.” She watched a curl of hair drift down to the tiled floor, silently realizing that meant Graham had started. The metal of the scissors was cold on her head, and it made her shiver. “Made me feel,” 

When she didn’t finish, Graham prompted her to. “Made you feel what?” 

“Wrong.” 

The word swirled in the air, carrying with it an unknown curse. The Doctor finally, after months of struggling to find out who she felt, put the right word to the feeling. She felt wrong. 

“Like,” she continued, finding that the words came easy now, spilling out her mouth like a waterfall. “Like I’m an imposter, a fake of myself. I’m not the Doctor, just someone masquerading as a savior, a light in the dark. When in reality, I am the dark.” 

“When did this start?” Graham was blissfully quiet, not speaking above a gentle murmur. 

“When I regenerated, first looked in a mirror, when Yaz called me Ma’am. It was exhilarating at first. I was a woman! But then,” she picked absently at a loose thread on her sleeve. “It lost its novelty. I started to feel like I was wearing a disguise, like I’m not,” she snapped the thread, watching it fall to the floor. “Real.” 

Graham sighed, unsure of what to say. “Doc,” he finally stopped, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Look, this could very well be an alien thing that I’ve got no business knowing about, but to me, it sounds like you’ve got gender dysphoria. You’re not wrong, love. Not alone in it either. Plenty of people on earth have it, and it’s a right nasty thing, but it’s not the end of the world. It may feel like it, like you’re ready to tear at your skin and end yourself to feel even a modicum of comfort in yourself, but it gets better. I promise.” 

The Doctor wiped her eyes, suddenly beaming a watery smile. “Really?” 

“Really,” Graham promised. “When I did my treatments,” he turned back to her hair, realizing how little time they had before Yaz and Ryan woke up. “I always popped down to the mental health bit of the hospital on Saturdays. There was a group of kids, maybe twelve of them, who were all struggling with dysphoria in some form or another. Got to see them grow, realize that life wasn’t as bad as it seemed, and that despite their troubles, they were normal.” 

“I’m not normal.” 

Graham laughed. “No you aren’t,” he agreed. “But you’re not ridiculously abnormal either.” 

The Doctor scrunched her face, a bit confused. “I’m alien. I’m as abnormal as you get.” 

“Doctor?” Yaz stumbled blearily into the kitchen, still half asleep. “Is that you? What happened to the bathroom, it’s a mess.” 

The Doctor looked over at her and smiled. “Oops?” 

Half an hour later, The Doctor was back under the TARDIS controls, dressed and ready for the day. Yaz and Ryan were milling around her, and Graham was off cleaning the kitchen mess. It was peaceful. 

“Doctor?” Ryan said finally, after a few more minutes of relative silence. “What happened to your hair?” 

“Got frustrated and cut it off,” the Doctor responded, holding out her hand. Ryan put the small, lemon sized bit of machinery into her outstretched palm and she immediately began to hammer away at it. 

She emerged, grinning and shoving her chunky goggles off her eyes and up into her hair. “Alright gang, go grab Graham and tell him we’re leaving. How does the Medusa Cascade sound to you?” 

“The what?” Yaz asked as Ryan got to his feet to find his granddad. 

“The Medusa Cascade,” the Doctor said, fiddling with the controls. “Got a distress call from somewhere out that-a-way that seems promising.” 

Yaz smiled, coming up behind the Doctor. “Only you would call a distress signal promising.” 

“Yeah, well,” the Doctor put her hand on the dematerialization lever, a maniac look in her eyes. Yet, she seemed happy, a renewed confidence burning through her. “Let’s get a shift on.” 


	2. Then it's Sunday hell to pay, you young lost sinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor is taking her Fam to an Elvis concert, however, they have to dress up to fit in. The Doctor, obviously, isn’t a fan. And in the second half, how will the Doctor react to some good old fashioned street harassment?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! 
> 
> I’m tired. Like, seriously exhausted. Dunno why, I haven’t left my house in weeks. 
> 
> Anyway, I’ve decided this story will have 10 chapters, each one dealing with a different issue. The next chapter will be up eventually, considering this story has no concrete schedule and I haven’t even started the next chapter yet. I’d say maybe two weeks, give or take. 
> 
> Enjoy! ❤️

“This is ridiculous,” the Doctor grumbled, shuffling through the TARDIS wardrobe. She was taking the fam to an Elvis concert in 1955, thankfully not anywhere close to Alabama. After their last visit, she’d insisted on proper period clothes, which had dissolved into an entire argument. 

“Why don’t you ever dress up for this kind of thing?” Yaz asked as the Doctor pulled a few of the 50’s dresses she had. “You always tell us to wear the proper clothes, and yet you romp around all of time and space in the same two shirts.” 

“Hey!” The Doctor said indignantly, tossing Yaz a petticoat. “I have three shirts, thank you very much.” 

Yaz snorted, stepping into the petticoat and wrinkling her nose. “This seems excessive.” 

“Perfectly normal, actually,” The Doctor promised, tossing another dress option out. “50’s America was very big on this sort of style.” 

“Huh,” Yaz lifted a dress out of the pile. “I like this one.” 

The Doctor nodded, her hair flopping around as she did. “Suits you. Holler if you need me to zip you up, I’m gonna go find Ryan a jacket.” 

Yaz shimmied into the dress, smoothing the floral patterned fabric overtop the petticoat. She did look quite good, especially with the heels and makeup. 

“Doc!” She called, spinning in front of the mirror. “Doctor!” 

“What?” The Doctor poked her head out from between a long brown trenchcoat and a tweed jacket. “Oh! You look amazing Yaz!” 

Yaz smiled, face going red at the compliment. “What are you gonna wear?” 

The Doctor looked down at her clothes. “Is this not good enough?” 

“Not unless you wanna stick out like a sore thumb!” Yaz pointed out. “You just said circle skirts and petticoats where the norm.” 

“I did,” the Doctor mused. “But I,” she looked down, suddenly saddened. “I guess I should put on something more appropriate.” 

Which was where she was now, rooting through fabrics of various size and color, each of the passing clothes making the knot in her stomach turn tighter and tighter. She had plenty of fifties clothes, from dresses to pants to hats and shoes, but nothing felt right. Nothing called to her, the same way her signature grey-blue coat and yellow braces had at the thrift store. 

“What about this?” Yaz asked, pulling a pretty blue and black dress. “You could wear it with a white petticoat and white shoes.” 

“Nah,” The Doctor scrunched her face, her chest pulling tight at the dress. “Not my color.” 

Yaz raised an eyebrow. “It’s practically the same color as your shirt right now.” 

“Hush,” the Doctor pushed past a few more dresses, suddenly feeling sick. “Maybe I’ll stay here. Let you crazy kids loose on New York while I stay and do repairs. She needs it.” 

“Doctor,” Yaz was quiet as she put a hand on the Doctor’s shoulder. “Tell me what’s wrong.” 

The Doctor shook her head, breath quickening. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. Just go, I’ll be fine here alone.” 

Yaz hesitated, standing up and smoothing her skirt. “I’ll go find Ryan and Graham. See ya.” 

She left, leaving the Doctor amongst fallen clothes and rapid breaths. Why did the mere notion of a dress make her feel like vomiting? What was wrong with her?

The words Graham had told her a few days ago came to mind, clear against the fog. 

“Search gender dysphoria in the databanks,” she choked out to the TARDIS, leaning towards the wall with the interface in it. The TARDIS complied, popping up a few human articles about dysphoria. The Doctor sobbed openly, finally, as she read. She wasn’t a freak. 

“Doctor?” Yaz was there, at her side. The Doctor jumped, curling in on herself and throwing her arms up, covering her face. 

Yaz held her hands up, near her shoulders. The universal ‘I’m unarmed’ gesture. “Doctor,” she murmured. “It’s me, it’s Yaz.” 

“Yaz?” The Doctor stumbled over the word, looking at Yaz with loose, faraway eyes. “Yaz? Where are you?” 

“Here,” Yaz gently took the Doctor’s hands and put them on her face. “I’m right here. Can you see me?” 

The Doctor hesitated. “Fuzzy,” she mumbled. “All cloudy.” 

Yaz nodded, glad the Doctor could feel her movements. “You were breathing really heavy,” she said, still in that soft tone. “Can you take one really deep breath for me? Please?” 

Nodding, the Doctor inhaled. It was shuddery and hesitant, but she did it. 

“That’s good,” Yaz praised, smiling and brushing her hand across the Doctor’s wet cheek. “Very good.” 

After a few minutes, the Doctor could see again, huddled up amongst clothes and Yaz, the faithful companion by her side as she got her breathing under control. Her tears were wiped away, and aside from the puffy face and trembling body, it almost looked like she’d never even had the panic attack. 

“Graham told me a bit about your gender issues,” Yaz said finally, breaking the silence. “I’m sorry I pressed you to wear a dress. I should’ve realized,” 

“No,” the Doctor rasped. “I should’ve told you.” 

Yaz smiled. “Let’s agree we both need to be more proactive about these things,” she decided. “Okay?” 

“Okay.” 

Yaz stood, holding out her hands. “Now, I’m sure that somewhere, this TARDIS has gender neutral 50’s clothes that you can vibe with. Let’s go!” 

Almost forty five minutes later, the Doctor emerged from a dark corner, looking hesitantly down at herself. “Well?” 

Between the two of them, they’d found an appropriate and very Doctor-esque outfit. Navy blue fitted pants that stopped midway down her shins, a white button up with sleeves that were rolled up to her elbows, the shirt tucked tightly into her pants, deep blue braces, a leather jacket with a few fun patches, and a pair of TARDIS blue converse shoes. Somehow, she’d managed to get victory curls in the little time they had, and there was a blue bandana tied in a messy bow on her head. 

“You look stunning,” Yaz said, her heart beating a bit faster as she watched the Doctor check herself out in the mirror. “How do you feel?” 

“Like myself,” the Doctor nodded. “I feel good.” 

Yaz came up behind her. “That’s good.” 

“Do y’think I need makeup?” The Doctor asked, turning to look at Yaz. They were inches apart, and Yaz could feel the Doctor’s breath on her face. 

“Do you want it?” 

The Doctor shrugged. “Bit of lipstick never hurt anyone,” she decided. 

That was how she ended up sat on a stool in the bathroom, Yaz rummaging for an appropriately red shade of lipstick. When she finally found it, she straightened triumphantly, handing over the unassuming tube to the Doctor. “Here you are.” 

“Thanks,” the Doctor leaned towards the mirror, standing on her toes to reach properly. She carefully put the lipstick on, noting that Yaz had picked her jacket up and was examining the patches. 

“Was this one really necessary?” She asked, pointing to the one on the right shoulder. 

The patch in question was circular, with the TARDIS in the center, sitting behind a ribbon of text that read ‘Official Type 40 TARDIS Pilot.’ 

“Absolutely,” the Doctor said, turning away from the mirror and smiling. “How do I look?” 

Yaz grinned. “Brilliant.” 

The Doctor slung the jacket across her shoulders, her eyes lighting up. “Y’know that’s my line, yeah?” 

“Not anymore.” 

Ryan looked around as the TARDIS dematerialized, shivering in the night air. “She didn’t mention it was supposed to be cold.” 

Before Graham could say anything, the TARDIS came back, Yaz and the Doctor coming out with a flourish. “Alright Fam,” the Doctor said happily. “Let’s get a shift on, Elvis won’t wait forever.” 

That night, after the concert, the Doctor was back in her pyjamas, a rather large cup of tea in her hands as she headed down the halls of the library. It was quiet, peaceful even. The Doctor hummed, her bare feet making almost no noise on the wooden floor. She was somewhere in the fiction section, avoiding the ever terrifying non-fiction half. Eventually, she settled down on a cushy leather armchair, tucked away into a little alcove in the shelving. If she had to guess, she was between Shelly and Stoker in the historical and classic fiction section, meaning she was close to the core of the library. 

Sipping her tea, the Doctor curled her legs up under her, staring out over the expanse of books she kept. Somewhere out there, the TARDIS had probably generated herself a new manual, and the Doctor had a bit of an urge to find it. Maybe she could chuck it into the Notre Dame fire, watch the pages curl from the heat. Or she could freeze it and smash it, the crystalline ice shards gleaming in the light of the dwarf sun on the closest ice planet. 

She sighed, leaning back and tugging her sleeves over her hands. The pyjamas felt good, all loose fabric and the ability to hide her body. It was perfect. 

“Doctor?” Yaz’s voice broke through her thoughts, echoing across the vast library shelves. “Doctor? Are you there? I just wanted to say goodnight!” 

“Goodnight,” the Doctor responded, meeting Yaz’s eyes as she turned the corner. 

Yaz sighed. “Doctor, don’t you have a bedroom?”

“Yeah?” 

“So why aren’t you there?” Yaz asked, as if it were obvious. 

The Doctor hesitated. “Not tired, really.” She lied. “Gonna sit ‘round here for a while, maybe do some reading.” 

“Stop lying to me,” Yaz said abruptly. “It’s unbecoming.” 

“I’m not lying!” The Doctor put her mug down a bit harsher than she intended, the warm drink splashing out and hitting her hand.

Yaz sighed, leaning forward and putting her hands overtop the Doctor’s. “It’s okay if you are,” she promised. “I’m not exactly pleased with it, but it’s okay. We all lie for a reason.” 

“Not me Yaz,” The Doctor murmured, staring into her mug, watching the tea ripple as she shook. “Not me.” 

Two weeks later, she was out with Yaz on Earth, the pair of them having gone out shopping. Well, Yaz shopped. The Doctor stood around awkwardly and occasionally decided on getting the goofiest and most ridiculous pieces of clothing. Like the planet and dinosaur print boxers, or the various button ups in what Yaz called ‘dad prints.’ 

“Did you have fun?” Yaz asked as they walked. It was getting late, and they were headed towards Graham’s house to crash. 

“A bit,” the Doctor said, swinging her arms. “I like the shirts!” 

Yaz laughed, eyeing the one shirt she could see. It was a cool navy, with small UFOs printed on it. It was very much a Doctor shirt. 

“I’m glad you like it,” Yaz said, pressing a button on the crosswalk sign and waiting. “So, tomorrow, where do you wanna go?”

“Oh,” the Doctor shrugged. “Dunno. There’s a planet out in the Kasterborous constellation with silver trees and three suns, we could go there. I know for a fact the suns only rise in tandem once every hundred earth years. It’s a beautiful sight to see.” 

Before Yaz could answer, someone came staggering up to the crosswalk where they were waiting, clearly very drunk. “Hey ladies.” 

The Doctor, clearly uncomfortable, tugged her coat a bit tighter around her chest, avoiding the man at all costs. Yaz sighed. She’d experienced this before. Granted, she’d always been working, but that didn’t really change the situation. She turned, facing the man. “Sir, please, step away.” 

“C’mon sugar,” he drawled, throwing an arm around Yaz’s shoulders. “Don’t be such a bitch. You and your cute little girlfriend can come on back to my place, put on a show for me and my mates. I promise we don’t bite,” he growled, getting dangerously close to Yaz’s face. 

What happened next happened so fast, Yaz assumed she’d missed something. One second, the pervert was leaning in close to her, and the next, he was on his stomach on the pavement, the Doctor pressed on top of him, pinning his arms and snarling her words. “Leave us alone,” she hissed, putting harsh emphasis on each word. “Or I’ll feed you to the eldritch horrors on Riutuv 12. Believe me, they won’t find a scrap of you left.” 

She stood, leaving the drunk on the ground, whimpering something about tentacles and slime. 

The rest of the walk home was dead silent. Yaz didn’t dare say a word, lest she aggravate the Doctor even more. She had picked up the clothes, and carefully dropped the Doctor’s designated bag outside the TARDIS. “Doctor?” 

“What?” The Doctor didn’t sound angry, as Yaz expected. She just sounded tired on the surface, but Yaz knew better. She sounded broken. Like a glass that had been pushed to shattering, irreparable and very dangerous unless you knew how to navigate the war zone of brokenness. 

Yaz put a hand on her upper arm, trying to rub some comfort into the Doctor’s skin. “Do you wanna sleep in the TARDIS tonight, or would you rather stay in Graham’s house?” 

“The TARDIS,” the Doctor replied, her voice impossibly small. Yaz had heard this same woman give speeches that silenced armies, her voice ringing out across galaxies as a sign of hope. And yet, she sounded so incredibly destroyed, small and weakened, that Yaz began to tear up. 

As the Doctor turned to head into her ship, Yaz stopped her. “Mind if I come too?” She asked, before she could stop herself. “Make you some tea or something, you look like you could use it.”

The Doctor smiled, a broken little smile, not all quite there, but it was a start. “Always fixing things with tea, you lot are. But I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. C’mon, before I say no.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜
> 
> Stay safe! And remember, you’re valid, no matter what.


	3. And you know it's obvious, but we can't choose how we’re made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor has a heart to heart with Ryan about nightmares, and the Fam visits a gender therapy center, where they get to sit in on a therapy session.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah. This is long. 
> 
> I also shamelessly put myself in here, but shhhh. 
> 
> Anyway, with all the shit going on, I am staying quiet. No drama, no fuss, no world shattering news. My stories will be a sanctuary of sorts. A place to escape the real world and simply read some fun and angsty stories. 
> 
> Enjoy!

_ Screaming. She could hear screaming. Even before her eyes opened, she knew what sight would meet her gaze. She could smell it, the burning of wood, the thick, ash laden air. It seeped under her skin, too hot, too much. She felt the fires, flickering and hungry, listening to the ravenous flames destroying everything they could.  _

_ She opened her eyes, hesitant and fearful of what she would see.  _

_ Orange. The sky was orange, streaked through with yellows and reds, covered by a layer of soot filled clouds. If she tried hard enough, she could imagine the suns were setting, ready to plug the planet into nighttime.  _

_ However, reality was so much worse.  _

_ Burning. She could taste it on her tongue as she walked, out of the charred husk of her childhood home and into the streets, where people ran, frantic and desperate. She heard children crying, their high voices mingling with the rest of the crowd. She saw familiar alleyways basking in flickering firelight, the dancing flames casting wicked shadows on the walls.  _

_ “Do you see it?” A familiar voice rang out, from all around, like a God from a faraway throne. “Do you see what I did for you?”  _

_ She cried out, watching people rush past her, each one in varying states of agony. She couldn’t help them, couldn’t save them.  _

_ “Look around!” The voice commanded. “I did this for you! So they could feel your pain.” _

_ She choked, trying to make words form and fall from her lips, but nothing. Just a strangled sob, her throat closing with tears.  _

“Doctor?” 

_ “Watch then burn!” The voice yelled. “Watch then suffer the way you have, as they get what they all deserve!” He stepped out of the shadows, grinning like a wolf who had just found its prey. “It’s all your fault anyway.”  _

_ She turned in circles, rushing through the crowds until she saw it. The citadel, high and mighty, filled to the brim with fire and screams, countless lives being lost.  _

_ Suddenly, she began to burn, a deep painful fire consuming her skin. It ate at her clothes and hair, using her body as kindling to grow and grow and grow.  _

_ She screamed, high, desperate, and painful. It tore at her throat and hurt the whole way out. She wasn’t even sure if the noises she was making were human. She sounded like an animal. A broken, wounded animal.  _

“Doctor!” 

_ She couldn’t cry, the heat consuming her tears, leaving crackling, burning skin behind. Her lips peeled, body bubbling like someone had injected her with magma. She screamed again, the ash in the air invading her lungs and forcing her to cough.  _

“Doctor!” 

_ Death would be a mercy, death would mean coolness and stillness and an escape from the pain. Death would be a welcome friend.  _

“Doctor! Wake up!” 

She shot upright with a cry, breathing heavy. Someone was there, just at her left, concern written all over his face. 

“Doctor?” Ryan inched closer. “You okay?” 

Right. She’d taken the fam camping on some faraway planet, and she’d had to share a tent with Ryan. Which wouldn’t have been so bad had she not just had a nightmare. 

The Doctor curled her legs into her chest, resting her cheek on her knees so she was facing Ryan. He still looked concerned, but was also moving around, shuffling with the Doctor’s coat. “Here,” he passed her a small candy, one of the ones she always carried around with her. She put it in her mouth, feeling the immediate tingling of ginger on her tongue. It calmed her down, and her hearts stopped beating in her ears, her pulse slowing down to a normal rate. 

“Hey,” Ryan handed her a mug, filled halfway with warm tea. “For your throat.” 

She accepted it wordlessly, uncurling just enough to accept the drink before shrinking back to a tiny ball of shaking Time Lord. Her throat did hurt, like someone had scraped it raw while she slept. 

Ryan sat across from her, crossing his legs and waiting as she sipped. He noted the tremble in her hands, the way her eyes flicked towards any small noise, the tensing and relaxing of her muscles. She was coming down off a panic attack. 

Eventually, the Doctor set the empty mug down, hesitantly eyeing Ryan. He didn’t move, only nodded to her, a silent reassuring sign. 

She unfolded, crawling slowly towards Ryan. He curved his legs out, making a spot in his lap for her to sit, legs draped over one of his thighs, her shoulder pressed to the bottom of his rib cage. She rested her head on his chest, ear right over his heart. 

He felt her cry before he heard it. The shuddering breaths, the soft trembling as she placed her right hand lightly across his pec, her fingers shakily searching, for what, he was unsure of. He wrapped her in a hug as she sobbed, chest heaving and painful noises that could only be described as half screams spilling off her lips. She was in pain. 

Eventually, the Doctor let out a soft sigh, wasted of tears. Empty and waiting, hollow eyes searching for anything she could use to make herself whole again. 

Ryan was there, ready to meet her eyes and pull her back to reality. She curled into him again, eyes fluttering closed. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t,” Ryan murmured, hearing the painful rasp in her voice. “Just rest Doctor. You’ll feel better, I promise.” 

She nodded, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, falling victim to her own exhaustion, still cocooned in Ryan’s arms

Within the next few days, Ryan kept her nightmare a secret, but he always made her tea in the mornings with extra honey to combat the scratchy throat she gave herself. He was always there with strong arms and a warm hug, ready to wipe her eyes and promise she was going to be okay. Whether she believed him was a different story, but she seemed to like the reassurance. 

One morning, before Graham and Yaz were awake, while Ryan made breakfast, the Doctor stumbled into the kitchen, her face red and her hands shaking. Ryan pushed her tea across the countertop, watching her chug half of it in one go before she sat, directly on the silvery white counters and let her mug sit in her lap. “Ryan?” 

He winced internally. The scratch of her voice was painful for him to just listen to, he couldn’t even imagine how bad it felt to her. “Yeah?” 

“How’d you know,” she started, and he cut her off before she could say anything else. 

“Because I get them too.” 

She stopped, eyes wide, scanning him up and down. “You see destruction in your dreams?” 

“Not destruction, no,” he said, trying to find the best way to say what he needed to. “We all get nightmares, it’s just a part of living. But sometimes,” he stared down at the toaster. “Sometimes they’re worse, and those are called night terrors. I had them for a bit, after I started living with my nan. Right awful things, they are. Plus, I pay attention,” he gestured to a small container of ginger candy the Doctor kept in the kitchen. “You said once that this stuff is like alcohol or drugs for your species, and I know you keep some on you at all time, so I figured it’d calm you a bit. I melt one in your tea whenever you look ragged.” 

The Doctor smiled. Now that she knew, she could taste the slight bite of the ginger amongst the honey and sugar. She took another sip of her tea. “Thanks Ryan.” 

He nodded, turning back to breakfast. “No problem Doctor.” 

Eventually, once Graham and Yaz woke up, they all gathered for breakfast. The Doctor, as per the usual, ate a lot. She mumbled around a mouthful of eggs that she’d skipped eating the day before, which, while it wasn’t a terribly unhealthy thing to do, wasn’t smart for someone with her metabolism. 

“So,” Ryan said, leaning across the table as the Doctor inhaled another bite of eggs. “Where to today?” 

“I was thinking,” the Doctor responded eagerly, audibly swallowing. “Nyke 133. Beautiful planet, humanoid inhabitants, and did you know, Nyke 133 has the biggest gender therapy center in the galaxy? Takes up nearly half the planet!” 

Ryan and Graham shared a look. “Uh, Doc?” Graham said hesitantly. “We’ve been meaning to ask, now that we’re on the subject of gender, what pronouns do you use? Because we all assumed you were a woman, but you don’t,” 

“Act it?” The Doctor finished. 

“Yeah.” 

She sat back, thinking. “Well,” she hummed. “You humans are obsessed with the concept of gender. Time Lords, and most other species, actually, don’t bother with it. Gallifreyans as a whole weren’t too keen on labels, especially considering some could regenerate. Almost every species has a designated male and female though, even if it isn’t called that.” 

“So?” Yaz prompted. “Your pronouns.” 

The Doctor swung her fork around, waving it like a magic wand. “Doesn’t matter. Although, some days I do prefer certain pronouns over others.” 

“And today?” 

The Doctor’s eyes flickered towards Ryan’s. “Female works fine.” 

Their exploration of the Nyke 133 started off fairly calmly, yet also unexpectedly wrong, with the Doctor leading them through colorful hiking trails after having admitted she didn’t land in the right spot. 

“Sorry ‘bout this,” she said cheerfully, pushing aside a branch full of red leaves. “Thought I was on the west side of the planet, that’s where it’s civilized. The east side is, well,” she gestured to the wilderness around them. “Less so.” 

Graham simply smiled. “Haven’t been on a proper hike in years. Fresh air feels good.” 

He pulled ahead, Yaz at his side. They chatted, while the Doctor lagged behind to walk in step with Ryan. He was having a bit of difficulty with the rocky terrain, eyebrows knit as he focused on not loosing his footing. 

Finally, the path evened out, stretching into a field of soft waist height grass. The Doctor ran her fingers through it, a peaceful smile on her lips. She was calm, so very far from the broken down person she’d been this morning, battered by nightmares. Now, the rippling field healed her, the long walk into nothingness soothed her aches and pains. 

The newly flattened path also helped Ryan out. He was no longer watching every step, worried he’d slip and hurt himself. Again. 

“So,” he finally said, breaking the silence between him and the Doctor. “How’d you sleep?”

Her serene look hardened. It was no secret she wasn’t as close to Ryan as she was with the others, but the nightmares were sacred to the unlikely pair, a haunted battleground only the two of them could tread. While she may have been more comfortable around Yaz and more content around Graham, she found familiarity in Ryan. She saw herself when they talked in the early reaches of the morning, noticed the shifting of hands on wrists and the carefully picked words, habits she had developed over years and years. And apparently, so had he. 

“Better,” she murmured, not looking at him, but seeing him all the same. “Got a few hours, but then,” she shuddered. “What do you dream about usually?” She asked, eager to change the subject. 

“Useless stuff,” Ryan smiled. “Like, I’m a character in a video game, or I’m going to school, but it’s all upside down.” 

The Doctor giggled, taking a misstep and bumping shoulders with Ryan. “Funny.” 

Ryan nodded, peering over at the Doctor. “What about you? Do you ever just dream?” 

She went silent. She did indulge sometimes, on pure and innocent dreams that filled her with happiness. She rather liked a certain reoccurring one with River, but she would never tell a soul about that dream. Instead, she shrugged after her pause. “I do,” she hummed, squinting at something in the distance. “Not as meaningless as yours though. I live through old memories when I dream.” 

He was prevented from saying anything as she lit up, not unlike a Christmas tree, and began to run. “C’mon fam!” She shouted. “Told you we weren’t far off!” 

They followed, a bit slower, but eventually caught up to where the Doctor was animatedly chatting to a local, a smaller person with a brilliant shock of grassy green hair. They had on rather simple clothes, a high collared white shirt slipped on overtop a loose pale grey dress, and a small badge above their heart read ‘They/Them.’

“Oh!” The person said, seeing the rest of the Fam. “Are these your companions?”

The Doctor nodded, introducing them all to Atlas, a nurse at the therapy center. Atlas shook all their hands individually. They were cold, much colder than a human, but no one said anything about it. 

“Well then,” Atlas dug through a pocket on the side of their dress. “If I may,” they passed around name tag stickers and markers. “Please put preferred names and pronouns on these. We ask all visitors and center residents to do so, just to make everyone as comfortable as possible.” 

The Doctor wasted no time scribbling her name in characteristically messy handwriting, but she faltered when she realized she’d have to put a gender. 

Eventually, she got it, slapping the sticker above her left heart and smiling. 

‘The Doctor, They/Them’

No one mentioned the Doctor’s sudden shift in pronouns, but they all noticed. Instead of saying anything about it, the Doctor merely followed behind Atlas, beginning to ask about the construction and mechanics of the therapy center. 

“Here on Nyke 133,” Atlas said, opening a door and waiting for everyone to pass through. “We’re prepared to face a multitude of gender issues. The left wing of this facility is entirely dedicated to medically transitioning, whereas the right wing is for our more traditional therapies.” 

Atlas led them down the left, through a few wide hallways and into a sunny courtyard, with the same soft grass as outside and a few small trees. They all sat on a large bench beneath a tree, the Doctor opting to strip out of their shoes and socks and sit directly on the grass in front of them. A few other patients, all in white or pale blue, were also relaxing around them. Some of them waved to Atlas, who waved back. 

“So,” Yaz said, kicking her leg a bit. “Atlas. How long have you been here?” 

Atlas smiled. “My whole life,” they murmured, putting a hand on the tree beside them. “I was raised in the village, and now I live in the center.” 

“Most Nykans don’t leave their home planets,” the Doctor hummed, swaying back and forth and picking at the grass between their toes. “112 was the first to achieve space travel, and the others don’t get out much.” 

Atlas sighed. “You seem to know a lot about my species.” 

“I know a lot about most things.” 

“Well then,” Atlas stood, brushing their hands on their dress. “You should have no problem attending our group therapy session then.” 

They all followed Atlas down a few halls, until they pushed open a set of white double doors, leading into a large circular room. 

“Wow,” Graham breathed, looking around. He had always associated group therapy with shitty folding chairs, barely willing participants, and awful snacks. But the room was bright, with a wall full of windows, the uplifting sun filtering through gauzy white curtains. The floor was covered by a fluffy white rug, various couches, armchairs, and stools in a myriad of colors and textures making a loose circle around the edge of the rug. It was so unlike anything the Fam has ever seen, so it took them a minute to join Atlas in finding a seat. All except the Doctor. They stayed glued to the entryway, pupils wide and breath rasping in their throat. 

“Doctor?” Ryan said, turning and walking back to them. “You okay?” 

“Yeah!” The Doctor snapped out of their mood, smiling a smile that didn’t quite reach their eyes. “Let’s sit.” 

Graham and Ryan quickly claimed a cushy leather loveseat, Yaz settling to their left on a hot pink faux fur stool. The Doctor, in true Doctor fashion, curled up like a cat in a star embroidered navy velvet armchair that practically swallowed them whole. There was a thick fleece blanket tossed across it that the Doctor tugged over their legs, suddenly glad that they hadn’t put their boots back on. 

“Welcome everyone,” Atlas said, setting down on a wooden rocking chair. “We have some new guests here, so why don’t we all introduce ourselves? We’ll do our usual, your preferred name, pronouns, and two fun facts about yourself. Would you like to start?” They asked, turning to Graham, who was on their left. 

The fam had no problem with their introductions, but when Yaz looked pointedly at the Doctor, they hesitated. “Hi, I’m The Doctor. Not to be confused with a doctor. I use they/them pronouns right now, and-“ they broke off, trying to find two facts about themself that didn’t dredge up old memories. 

_ I’m a Time Lord _

No, it wasn’t correct anymore. They didn’t know what they were. 

_ I came from Gallifrey _

_ I destroyed Gallifrey _

_ I’m a beacon of destruction _

_ I’m the Oncoming Storm, the Valeyard _

_ I’ve watched planets burn _

_ I’m older than most stars _

_ I’ve watched my own planet burn before my eyes _

_ I’m in so much pain _

“Doctor?” 

They dragged their tear filled eyes up to meet Ryan’s. “Right. Sorry,” they wiped their eyes and shrugged. “I’m a Gallifreyan, and, uh, oh! I’m a traveler.” 

They looked to their left, glad that the moment was over. Making the memories had been painful enough; reliving them was much harder. 

After everyone had introduced themselves, Atlas nodded. “Well, that was insightful. Why don’t we open the conversation up. Anyone who wants to share, don’t hesitate to. We are here to listen, and to help.” 

The topic bounced around. A few patients shared gender issues, and a few talked about family. One brought up travel, and the Fam began to join in. But throughout it all, the Doctor remained stubbornly silent. They didn’t want to contribute, lest the unfallen tears make their way back to their eyes. 

Atlas, however, had a different idea. “Doctor, you’ve been very quiet. What’s been troubling you lately?” 

The Doctor started, tugging the blanket closer into their chest. “Um,” they picked at a loose thread. “I’ve had this nightmare, and it won’t go away.” 

“Well,” Atlas leaned their elbows onto their knees. “Why don’t you tell us about it? Maybe talking to someone will help relieve some of the pressure.” 

“Maybe,” the Doctor echoed. “I always start in the same place. My old home, outside Gallifrey’s citadel. It on fire, the whole thing. The whole planet,” they started to choke up, tears blooming in their eyes. “I walk out, and everyone’s screaming. But I can’t help them. I can never help them.” 

Atlas nodded. “You’re helpless,” they murmured. “You want to save people, everyone. But you can’t.” 

“I can’t,” They agreed. 

Everyone was silent for a minute. A long, agonizing minute, where the only sound was the steady metronome-esque beat of a clock. Finally, finally, someone across the circle spoke up. “Have you tried writing them down?” 

The Doctor shook their head. “No?” 

The person, who had introduced himself as Kris, looked up, meeting the Doctor’s eyes. “Whenever you have a nightmare, write it down, or voice record it. Every detail you can remember, even the small ones. Lay it all out, right in front of you. Once it’s on the paper, or recorded somewhere, it’s not just in your head. It has a home, and you can put that home in a box, where it can never get to you. It can never haunt you again.” 

Again, a deep silence. But the Doctor was glad for it this time. What Kris was saying made sense. “Thank you.” 

The session ended not long after that, with Atlas telling everyone that dinner was in an hour, and they shouldn’t be late. 

“And you four,” they said, walking the Fam to the building exit. “Be careful. The universe is full of good things, but for every good, there is a bad.” 

They waved, watching the fam begin the short hike back to where the TARDIS was parked. The Doctor lead the charge, about ten feet in front of the rest of the fam. They hummed, loose tunes with no real meaning, as they let the long grass and dewey smell of the forest wrap them in a warm hug. 

That night, at approximately two twenty eight in the morning, Sheffield time, the Doctor woke up in a cold sweat, screaming and crying. However, as opposed to their normal routine, go back to sleep and pretend it never happened, they sat up, getting out of bed and padding down to the kitchen, surprised to find an exhausted Ryan, Graham, and Yaz all waiting for them. 

“Milk,” Yaz said, pushing a mug of warm milk across the counter. “Helps soothe.” 

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” The Doctor asked, taking the mug. “I’m real sorry if I did.” They pulled a sip from the mug. It tasted like comfort, a perfect blend of cinnamon and honey. 

Yaz yawned. “Doesn’t matter,” she promised. “What matters is that we’re here for you. So,” she sat down at the table, gesturing for the rest of them to do the same. “Talk to us.” 

The Doctor shuffled to a seat, cupping the mug and letting the warmth deep into their hands. “Okay.” 

So they did. They painted horrific pictures of battles long fought, no one winning, everyone losing. Planets on fire and children crying, chaos swallowing the people whole. 

By the time the sun would’ve been rising back home, the Doctor was exhausted, their mug empty, their eyes dropping. “Fam,” they mumbled. “Gonna go have a lie down. See ya.” 

“Wait up,” Yaz stumbled to her feet. “Got room for three more on that bed of yours?” 

No, they didn’t, but that didn’t stop the TARDIS from creating a small room full of pillows and blankets, the entire floor a perfectly soft mattress. The Doctor settled between two pillows, right in the middle of the room, while the Fam inserted themselves beside them, Yaz cuddling up to their right, and Graham and Ryan both close by on their left. 

The Doctor drifted slowly off to sleep, surrounded by family, and for the first time in the few months since Gallifrey had fallen, they didn’t have a single nightmare. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜


	4. You should've been gone from here years ago, you should be living a different life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor is in need of change again, however, this time it’s Yaz who steps up to the plate to help her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I posted like, two days ago, but this is a very important time for this chapter to come out. Today, I’m doing the same thing the Doctor is doing. I’m (finally) cutting my hair to the proper gender affirming haircut. 
> 
> I’m so nervous! 
> 
> Anyway, I had this chapter done weeks ago, but yeah... it’s not as angst heavy, in my opinion. More of the happy angst, if that’s even a thing.

“Yaz?” Graham poked his head into Yaz’s room on board the TARDIS. The whole fam was taking a week long vacation, traveling to a bunch of peaceful planets, and as was typical, some non-peaceful ones too. “Yaz have you seen the Doc?” 

“Thought she was in the kitchen with you,” Yaz said, looking up. “Is she not?” 

“No,” Graham worried. “And she’s not with Ryan in the console room either.” 

Yaz stood, concern making her heart beat faster. “I’ll take the left, you take the right?” She suggested, heading out into the hall. 

Graham nodded, walking off down the left hallway, Yaz going the opposite direction. The TARDIS was helpful, giving off beeps whenever Yaz had the wrong door or hall. Eventually, she found the Doctor down a random hallway branch, muttering to herself and checking her sonic. 

“Doctor!” Yaz said, jogging to catch up with her favorite Time Lord. “There you are!” 

“Yaz!” The Doctor spun, surprised to see her. “You were looking for me?” 

Yaz nodded. “Graham couldn’t find you, and we were worried you had gotten into trouble, even though you hadn’t left the TARDIS.” 

“Oh yeah,” the Doctor nodded thoughtfully. “That happened once. Got lost looking for her heart.” 

The TARDIS gave a sigh, air rumbling through the halls. The Doctor elbowed the wall closest to her. “Don’t you dare!” She said angrily. “I’ve been looking for an hour, don’t you even think about moving it again!” 

Yaz snorted. It was funny listening to the Doctor and the TARDIS argue. Graham had said once they sounded like an old married couple, and now no one could hear anything else. “What’re you looking for?” 

“Dunno!” The Doctor said eagerly. “But she’s been leading me around for a while now. Seems to think I need something. Which is a bit odd, considering I feel fine. Kind of. Maybe. A bit,” she shrugged. “C’mon! Adventure time!” 

Almost half an hour later, the Doctor found the right door, the knob a warm brass. She twisted it, glancing happily at Yaz. “This is it.” 

Suddenly, she dropped the doorknob, apprehension filling her gaze. “Would you,” She asked, meeting Yaz’s eyes. 

“O’course,” Yaz said, pushing the door open and walking into the room. 

The first thing she noticed was the smell. Dust and hairspray, with a bit of lavender underneath. The room itself was nice, checkered black and white floors and cream colored walls. There was a dark wood fan spinning in lazy circles on the ceiling, and when Yaz turned to look back at the door, she saw a fake window overlooking a fake city. 

Yaz held her hand out to the Doctor, who was still standing in the hall. “It’s fine,” she promised. “Dunno why she thought you’d need this though.” 

The Doctor stepped into the room, looking around. “I do,” she breathed, fear and amazement in her voice. “Thanks old girl.” 

The TARDIS hummed, a proud sort of purr. She knew she’d done well. 

“So,” Yaz said. “Why on earth would you need this?” 

The Doctor spun in a slow circle, taking in the room. The dark wooden countertop on the left wall, the matching cabinet next to it. The mirror above the countertop. The posters on the walls, each one depicting something different. But the thing she got caught on, the thing that held her gaze the longest, was the heavy, antique barbershop chair. 

As with most things the TARDIS produced, the leather of the chair was blue, and the metal was all a slightly tarnished silver. It looked old. 

“I-“ the Doctor faltered. “I was having trouble with myself again,” she admitted softly. “Couldn’t stand my appearance.” 

“So the TARDIS gave you a solution,” Yaz finished, standing next to the Doctor. “Is it the right solution?” 

The Doctor nodded. “Yeah, I think so.” 

She and Yaz didn’t do much right away, simply explored a bit. The Doctor sat down in the chair, letting herself get comfortable. Yaz opened the cabinets, finding all sorts of things, carefully lining the countertop with what she thought she’d use. 

“Ready?” Yaz asked, meeting the Doctor’s eyes in the mirror. “Or we could just talk.” 

“Just wanna get it over and done with,” the Doctor admitted, but she didn’t sound scared. Just bored. “I get fidgety easily.” 

Yaz nodded, remembering just how many times they’d gotten in trouble for the Doctor’s inability to sit still. “Want me to get Graham? He’s probably better than I am.” 

“I trust you.” 

Yaz smiled, her heart lifting. The Doctor trusted her. 

“Plus,” the blonde added thoughtfully. “TARDIS is a bit finicky today. She might not let him find us. And the last thing we want is for Graham to get lost. He could end up in the incinerator, or worse, non-fiction section of the library.” 

“We have an incinerator?” 

The Doctor shrugged. “She won’t let me get at it though.” 

The TARDIS beeped, and Yaz could practically hear what she meant.  ‘That’s probably a good thing. You might throw yourself in out of boredom.’ 

“I most certainly would not!” The Doctor retorted. “I have a perfect incinerator safety track record!” 

Another round of arguing beeps, and a few wind chime sounding noises, which made the Doctor scrunch her face up. “Shut it you,” She grumbled. “Or I’ll actually get around to repairing your chameleon circuit.” 

“The what?” Yaz asked, pulling herself up to sit on the countertop, facing the Doctor.

“Chameleon circuit,” she repeated. “Any function TARDIS has one. It basically keeps the TARDIS hidden, turning the outside different shapes to make it inconspicuous. Mine broke ages and ages ago, and the TARDIS has been a blue box ever since then. Mind you, it goes on the fritz every so often, usually when I destroy the place too bad. Happens every regeneration or so. That’s why the exterior changes ever so slightly when the internal stabilizers blow. Of course, the internal stabilizers are ridiculously fragile, a lot easier to break. I destroy them every so often, usually on accident when I regenerate. The entire interior changes, and usually she’s mad at me for a few days afterwards.” 

“Huh,” Yaz nodded. “Do you think she keeps old interiors?” 

“Probably,” the Doctor shrugged. “She’s nothing if not sentimental.” 

The TARDIS flicked the lights, and again, Yaz could hear a melodic, woman’s voice echoing in her head.  ‘Get a move on you fools, or else I’ll flood the console with you inside. Lord knows you could use the bath.’ 

The Doctor shivered, the notion of a forced bath time horrifying her. “Right. Like she said, let’s go. I have repairs to do anyway.” 

Yaz hopped down, confused. “I could hear her,” she said. “The TARDIS, that is.” 

“Means she liked you,” the Doctor replied. “Old girl only talks to people she likes. Half the time, she refuses to talk to me in anything less than Gallifreyan, so it’s nice she’s expanding her vocabulary to include you!” 

“What’s it sound like?” Yaz asked abruptly, grabbing a book from the cabinet and beginning to flip through it. “Your language, that is.” 

The Doctor hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip. “You wouldn’t understand it,” she murmured. “TARDIS can’t translate. No one thought they’d have to, considering they’re Gallifreyan ships. Took me a while to actually learn human, basic English that it. After that, she took the liberty of translating every other human language. My vocal chords don’t like the harsh sounds, god knows how you people manage to talk like that all day long and now get a sore throat. But I guess,” she paused, looking at Yaz. “What should I say?” 

“Anything.” 

As soon as the Doctor had found the right words, she began to talk, and for a minute, Yaz couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It was impossible for her to even begin to describe the noises, the beautiful melody the Doctor was simply speaking. It sounded somewhere between wind chimes and sleigh bells, almost like if a music box could talk. 

No, Yaz realized as she kept listening. Not a music box. Not quite. Maybe a kalimba? Whatever it was, Yaz was in love with it. 

The Doctor stopped, her ears turning red. “Well?” 

Yaz shook her head. “Holy cow,” she breathed. “That was amazing. It sounded magical.” 

“Glad you think so,” the Doctor laughed. “I was detailing my repairs. Oh, and I think I ordered a pizza.” 

They laughed, and Yaz realized exactly how long it had been since the Doctor had actually laughed without caring. She rarely let her true emotions show, choosing to put up a front of enthusiasm and excitement instead. It was nice to see her finally letting herself out. 

“So,” Yaz said finally, after they’d stopped laughing. “Talk to me Doctor. The TARDIS brought you here for a reason, but you have to tell me what you want me to do with your hair. I’m not telepathic.” 

The Doctor shrugged, holding her hands out. “Let’s see if we can find anything.”’

Yaz passed the book she’d been looking at over, and the Doctor began to look through it, occasionally dog-earring the pages she thought were promising.

“Maybe something like this?” The Doctor passed Yaz the book, open to a page about halfway through. 

“Oh god,” Yaz sighed. “I could do it, but I can’t guarantee you’ll look good.” 

The photo the Doctor had picked was of a blonde woman with short wavy hair, the top about the same length the Doctor had hers now, but the back was cut into a very attractive undercut. 

“I think it’d suit me,” the Doctor pleaded, putting on her best puppy dog eyes. “Please?” 

Yaz sighed. She was too big a sucker to not give in to those massive, pleading hazel green eyes. “Fine,” she groaned. “But I’m warning you now, if I screw up, we’ve got exactly one way to fix it.” 

“Wassat?” 

“I buzz everything off.” 

The Doctor looked unperturbed, happy that Yaz had agreed to the style. “I had that haircut once! I was only 900 at the time. Rebellious teenager phase, I guess. Mind you, the maintenance was next to nothing.” 

Rummaging through the cabinets again, Yaz smiled. “What’s the average Time Lord lifespan?” 

“Oh,” the Doctor hesitated, thinking. “Well. A lot longer than 2,000 years, I can tell you that. Koschei and I burn through our lives like nothing, so we’re not a great example, but, as the only Time Lords you’re ever gonna meet,” 

“Koschei?” Yaz finally found what she was looking for and pulled it out of the cabinet. 

“The Master,” The Doctor corrected herself. “Sorry. But anyway, the pair of us would be considered suicidal on Gallifrey, with how fast we go through lives. I’d say your average Time Lord lives to be around 12,000 or so, give or take a few thousand years. I think old age gets them at about a thousand.” 

“You’re limited to twelve regenerations?” Yaz asked, unfolding the cape and draping it across the Doctor’s shoulders. She wiggled a bit, clearly discomforted by the fabric trapping her from making a fast exit. 

“Yeah,” she mumbled. “Twelve. Mind you, I only had eleven faces before I hit my limit. Regenerated into my existing face once, if you can believe it. Haven’t ever been ginger, though. Still waiting for that one.” 

“So, what, you’re on fourteen?” 

“I suppose,” The Doctor made a face. “When you put it like that, you make me sound old.” 

Yaz laughed, surprisingly amused at the comment. “You are old,” she pointed out, gathering the Doctor’s hair into a hair tie and a few clips, leaving loose what she planned on shaving. “Hey, isn’t this supposed to be done on wavy hair?” 

“Mine is.”

“Is not,” Yaz argued, continuing in her work anyway. “It’s straighter than you are.” 

“Hey!” The Doctor’s face shifted into one of offended amusement. “My hair is totally wavy! Only when I wash it though.” 

Yaz raised an eyebrow. “You mean to tell me,” she started. “That you, the one who periodically wades in mud puddles for fun, eats dirt, and wears the same coat without washing it, straighten your hair?” 

The Doctor laughed, her eyes lighting up. “Kind of?” She said. “The TARDIS dries my hair for me, and I guess she straightens it too.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” Yaz grumbled. “Next you’re gonna tell me you aren’t a natural blonde.” 

The sheepish look on the Doctor’s face was enough to make Yaz throw her hands up in the air. “Are you kidding?” 

“No?” The Doctor said hesitantly. “I think I’m brunette, but I can’t tell. That’s another thing the TARDIS does for me, she switches out my shampoo whenever I start looking too ragged, and bam, I’m full blonde again.” 

Yaz sighed. “You two are such an old

married couple,” she said, pulling out her phone and quickly googling a tutorial so she didn’t screw up too bad. 

“Thanks?” The Doctor looked a tad bit confused, but accepted the compliment. “I think my real wife would object to that, but thanks anyway. She’s all I’ve got really, long after everyone leaves. The TARDIS, that is. It’s always me and her, when I’m all alone.” 

After a bit of deliberation and a few references to the website she’d pulled up, Yaz grabbed a razor from the countertop, popping a colored guard on with a snap. “You ready?” 

The Doctor nodded, eagerness replacing her hesitation. “Go for it.” 

The pause the Doctor had lost, however, was suddenly passed to Yaz, who didn’t start right away. Instead, she put her free hand on the back of the Doctor’s neck, feeling the cool skin warm as she did so. “You’re sure about this?” 

The Doctor’s eyes saddened. “I need to feel okay, Yaz,” she murmured. “Please.” 

That was all Yaz needed. She flipped the razor on, trying not to think too hard about the consequences, and shaved a path up the back of the Doctor’s head. 

Immediately, the Doctor shivered. “That felt weird,” she remarked, smiling slightly. 

Yaz stared down at the ground, the razor off for a minute as she gathered herself. The chunk of hair sat, unassuming and unmoving, on the floor. The Doctor was right, Yaz realized slowly. She was a natural brunette. The line where Yaz had moved the razor was dark, a contrasting shadow against the rest of the sunny blonde hair. 

“It’s so fuzzy,” Yaz mumbled, running her hand over the stubble. “Soft too.” 

The Doctor laughed. “Is it?” She asked. “Keep going.” 

Yaz, all her hesitation gone, turned the razor back on and did as the Doctor said. She kept going. 

By the time she was finished with the razor, the Doctor was starting to get fidgety, crossing and then immediately uncrossing her legs, huffing in frustration whenever Yaz took too long to change the razor guard or she had to turn away to check the tutorial. 

“Are we almost done?” She asked when Yaz put the razor down and began to unclip the remaining hair, borderline whining. 

“Halfway there,” Yaz promised, grabbing a spray bottle and comb. “Shut your eyes.” 

The Doctor did, screwing her eyes tight as Yaz sprayed her hair down, sneezing as the spray hit her face. 

Yaz smiled, combing through her hair and trimming an inch or so. “Dork.” 

Finally, after an agonizingly silent fifteen minutes, Yaz was done, ruffling up the Doctor’s hair and grinning. “Alright, c’mon, you’re done.” 

The Doctor stood, eyes glued to her reflection. Then, out of nowhere, she began to cry. 

Yaz, worried out of her mind, wondering if she’d screwed up too bad, hovered over the Doctor, until she realized the blonde was smiling. 

“Thank you,” the Doctor breathed, throwing herself into Yaz’s arms. “Yasmin Khan, you are brilliant. Truly, 100%, proper brilliant.” 

Yaz hugged the Doctor, smiling slightly and rubbing her back. “Alrighty Doctor. C’mon, let’s go. Didn’t you say something about repairs?” 

As they walked back down the hallway, towards the console room, Yaz noticed that the Doctor had picked up a new habit. Instead of running her fingers through her hair like she usually did, she rubbed the back of her head, ruffling the fuzz beneath her hand. 

“Hey Yaz,” the Doctor said as Yaz broke off to settle down in her room for the night. “Thanks. For real.” 

Yaz hesitated at her door. “Wanna come in?” She asked. “We could watch a movie or something?” 

The Doctor smiled. “I’d like that.” She murmured. “I’d like that a lot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you all and don’t forget! You’re valid!!!!!

**Author's Note:**

> ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜


End file.
